Page 31

He ought to be.

I taught him a lot of what he knows.

He learned how to survive by watching me.

He strolls toward me… saunters, really. The bastard has not an ounce of fear or alarm written on him anywhere. His eyes burrow right through me as he approaches, and he pauses a foot to my right, hesitating, as his gaze trails over me, like he's sizing me up. He's assessing.

He steps past then, walking down the alley behind me. I don't move my body, but I do turn my head, watching as he approaches Joe lying on the asphalt, bleeding from where he hit his head.

"Friend of yours?" I ask.

Lorenzo shakes his head as he kneels down beside the guy. "He's still alive."

He glances at me as he says that, raising his eyebrow.

"For today," I say.

"For today," he repeats, turning back to Joe. Shaking his head again, he stands back up and starts toward me. "It's been a long time, Ignazio."

"It has."

"It's good to see you."

"I wish I could say the same."

He laughs at that.

I'm not surprised.

Most people probably find him charming, even alluring, despite the scar on his face. He can be so charismatic, so manipulative, that they overlook it. But me? I know a predator when I see one. I can spot one a mile away. There's nothing innocent about the guy, nothing harmless about his intentions. He draws you right into his web with every intention of trapping you for life.

For however long, it is, he decides to let you live.

I told Karissa before that I wasn't the most dangerous thing out there, and I hadn't been lying. Because him? The one they're calling Scar?

He might just be the worst of the bunch.

Lorenzo Gambini.

When Genova said he was from the south, he'd meant it.

Florida.

Kissimmee.

"Oh, don't be that way," Lorenzo says, stopping beside me again. "We're friends, are we not?"

"I have no friends."

"None at all?"

"None, and you know that," I say. "There are no friends in this business. There are only people who need you, until the day comes when they don't need you anymore."

He smiles at that. "Ever the cynical one."

"More like realistic."

"It's nice to see you haven't changed," he says, slapping me on the back, hard, making me take a step from the force of it. My hair bristles in response, my hands clenched into fists in my pockets. If he doesn't stop touching me… "But I still think you and I could be friends… or at least the kind of people who need each other for the long haul. You get me?"

I get him.

I get exactly what he's saying.

He can dress it up in pretty words like ‘friends' but I'm not an idiot.

He wants me to do something for him.

I knew it was only a matter of time.

"I'm of no use to you," I say. "I'm not in the business anymore."

He laughs yet again as he motions down the alley. "Looks to me like you're still hard at work. Or, wait, is this personal? More quests for revenge? Pray tell, who killed your wife this time?"

I don't even think about it.

The second I hear those words, I react.

I lunge toward him, but he's quick, like he expected this reaction from me. Hell, he probably did. He takes a step back, holding his hands up defensively, as I grab the front of his shirt, yanking him back toward me. In an instant, guns are cocked, all three guys standing guard whipping them out and aiming. Lorenzo stares at me, looking more amused than anything, while I fight to keep from pummeling him in the face.

"Testy," he says, prying my hands off of him. He straightens his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles from it. He's not dressed like the rest of them. He's dressed like he's nobody. Jeans and a t-shirt. Makes it easier to blend into crowds that way. Casually, Lorenzo motions toward the guys, telling them to lower their guns. They listen to his silent order, no hesitation. "You always did have a bit of a temper, Ignazio."

"Cut the bullshit," I tell him. "Tell me what you want from me."

He shrugs, taking a few steps back. "I told you… I just want to be friends, but if you don't want to be my friend, so be it."

"So, what, you're going to kill me? If that's your end game, Lorenzo, I'm right here. There's no reason to put it off. You got me. But do it now, if you're going to do it, because I'm not playing these games with you."

He ignores that, turning around to walk back to the car. Pausing by the door, he glances at me, his expression serious for the first time since stepping out of the thing minutes ago. "You told me something a long time ago, something that stuck with me. You said, ‘if you're not standing by my side, you're just standing in my way.' So I stood by your side then, Ignazio, and it'll do you well to remember that."

He gets in the car, shutting the door. Seconds later, the others follow suit. The car pulls out of the alley, gunning it to speed down the street as the car on the opposite side of the alley does the same, disappearing.

I don't hesitate.

I've already been here for far too long.

Any longer and Joe will be awake.

Ducking my head, I make a speedy exit, heading back toward my car. I leave the neighborhood, my gloved hands clutching the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles hurting from the strain. I have half a mind to track Lorenzo down right now, to kill him in his sleep for even thinking of talking to me that way, to even think of sneaking up on me, but I know I can't. I shouldn't.

He's on guard. He's surrounded.

There's no way I'm getting close to him.

Not tonight, anyway.

Besides, he could've killed me, but he didn't, which means he wants something from me, something to make him value my existence, but I'm not deluded to think it has anything to do with sentiment. Despite what he might claim, Lorenzo doesn't have friends, either.